


an exercise in trust

by domesticatedantelope (Vault_of_Glass)



Series: power couple [6]
Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, baby's first kink we are so proud, i'm emotional, idk. face kisses. it gets soft at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/domesticatedantelope
Summary: The one about trust; or, the one where Mercy gets acquainted with a desk.





	an exercise in trust

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from tumblr - "I'd hold onto something if I were you." How could I say no.

Mercy trusts Colt with many things. 

More, maybe, than she should: her life and freedom, and her foolish, messy heart. She trusts him to keep her safe, to make her laugh, to always, always please her…

And sometimes that means trusting him to hurt her, too.

Just a little, never more than she can take; she is small and soft, and she has limits. But once upon a time Colt Kaneko promised her _anything_ , and every day since then he has endeavored to make good on his word.

“You’ll tell me.” He worries his thumb at the curve of her lip, his voice firm with the thinnest edge of concern. “If you need to stop.”

Mercy smiles and kisses the pad of his finger. “Mmhmm. Promise.” That one important word sits tucked under her tongue like a safety net. She presses his palm to her face, leaning easily into his touch. “I want this.”

He shakes his head, but a smirk wins out on his face as he cradles her chin in his hand. “And Mercy always gets what she wants,” he teases. More than arrogance or amusement, there’s a vibrant sort of _pride_ in his eyes - like he would move heaven and earth to make it happen. 

She wonders if she could come from the warmth of that look alone. “Only if it’s what you want, too.” 

“In that case.” With one certain motion, he presses her face-down against his desk, his palm hot at the small of her back. “You asked for it.”

Her stomach flips. His hold keeps her quite firmly pinned - he’s bigger than her, and much stronger - but the thrill that trickles down her spine is all anticipation. She plants her feet, hearing her sneakers scuff the floor as she settles under his touch. Her heart batters a wild beat against her ribs, and she feels almost tipsy with impatience, fingers twitching against the smooth wood of the desk.

“Y’know, you seem awfully eager about this,” he remarks coolly behind her. Then, most certainly smirking, “For such a good girl, anyway.” 

“Asshole.” The insult rises like reflex on her tongue, breathless and far too soft with fondness to have any bite.

He laughs. “You’re in the wrong position to be throwing insults around.” His hand edges under the hem of her dress, rough against her bare skin. She feels his knuckles brush her thighs, and then he rucks her skirt above her ass, and she stiffens at the sudden chill of open air against her skin. 

Instinct clutches in her fingers, dapples cold sweat down her neck with the sudden urge to disappear. 

And then Colt groans, and the heat in his voice burns all her insecurity to ash. “ _Christ_ , Mercy. You look…” His hand smooths lovingly over the curves of her ass, gentle in touch but coarse with callused skin; Colt always carves himself into that perfect crosspoint between rough and soft. 

One broad, warm palm finds the back of her hand, guiding her fingers around the far end of the desk. “I’d hold onto something if I were you,” he says, low and gruff at her ear. When she shivers, he laughs and nips his teeth at the span of her neck, tucking one last kiss there before pulling away.

There’s a moment of suspension, breathless expectation, when she’s ready but she doesn’t know what to expect, when she wants and yet she doesn’t, and then -

The first strike of his hand bites red, red hot across her skin. Tears spring immediately to her lashes, and she chokes out a strangled noise as her body arches in response. Her eyes clench shut into violet darkness, fingers gripping at the desk with straining knuckles. The sting lingers and lingers, itching beneath the skin, like threads of heat left behind in the shape of his hand.

“Mercy…” Colt kneads his palm down the curve of her back. The sound of worry in his voice tempers her wild thoughts into some semblance of clarity. He’s waiting, she realizes, her mind still reeling from the pain and how it’s very, very slowly seeping into pleasure, hot between her thighs. 

“It’s good,” she gasps, a worthless word to capture the divine in the palm of his hand. “ _Please_. Keep going.”

Thoughtfully, his fingers make a soothing pass over her tender skin, and the touch feels soft as velvet in the wake of so much pain. She whines and eases under his attention, like all her muscles melt to the heat of his touch. When his hand lifts and comes down again, the moan rips from the bottom of her lungs, shuddering up through her body as her nerves erupt in splitting agony. For one brutal heartbeat, it’s all too much, and that safety net hovers behind her tongue; and then the worst of the pain tapers off into the pins-and-needles fall that throbs the line so close to pleasure.

Tears track wet paths down her burning cheeks, her breath fogging the surface of his desk. Her ass aches in dizzying bouts of torment and bliss. He lands a third strike, and her knees start to buckle, trembling beneath her weight as she babbles for more and mercy all at once. That blade-sharp pain seethes just beyond the reach of any relief - if he would just _touch her_ , his beautiful hands would soothe the ache, the burning flame, this beginning with no end.

One last slap of his palm across her ass leaves her shaking in his grip, her shoes losing traction and slipping against the floor. The pain sets off like stars at supernova, blinding hot behind her eyes, blanking every thought from the depths of her brain until there are only cinders of his name left. His fingertips trail soft as falling snow over her skin, and her nerves sing in relief.

“Colt, _Colt_ , please -” The syllables trip over her tongue, void of meaning. “ _Oh god Colt please_.”

His touch wanders between her legs, hot fingers scorching where she aches for him like a wound. “Oh, _shit_ , Mercy. You’re _so wet_.” He works his fingertips against her with embarrassing ease, and past the pain throbbing in layers across the curves of her ass, she can feel the warm slick crawling slowly down the insides of her thighs. “Oh my _god_.”

Mercy sobs urgent tears and rocks her hips in desperate need of friction. “Colt - _please, baby_.”

He grits a curse through clenched teeth, pushing his fingers into the wet heat between her thighs, where her body sucks around him like a vise. Her muscles tense up into tight lines, hips fucking back against his hand as she erupts into a piercing cry. 

Colt leans down to snap his teeth at the back of her neck, and a shudder runs her backbone, pooling in liquid heat between her legs. “Need you, sweetheart,” he sighs, his voice frayed into scratch and gravel. His knee pushes between her legs, nudging her thighs apart. She hears the click of his belt and the wet sound of his fingers crooking inside of her before they are abruptly gone, and her body aches at the loss.

A muddled whine falters somewhere above her throat. “Colt -”

And then she feels the thick head of his cock pressing heavy and hard against her tender nerves, still raw and reeling and - _oh my god_ \- overwhelmed by the sweet bliss of pleasure when finally, _finally_ he pushes in, and she is lost among that perfect torture of being split open around him, echoes of pain still pulsing in delicious counterpoint beneath her skin.

Colt splays his hand over her stomach, yanking her back against his chest to claim the space between her hip bones. Those greedy fingertips mark a determined path down to the hood of her clit, tracing precision shapes that rive hot bliss under each throb of pain when his hips swing flush against her own.

“Oh, oh, _oh_ -” Her voice breaks and fades into nothing. Her nails curl uselessly against the desk, scrabbling for purchase as he sets a frantic rhythm. She trembles with every brutal swivel of his hips, crying out when his teeth latch into the back of her shoulder, locking them firmly together. “Colt!”

His fingers twist around her clit, hips snapping hard against her aching flesh, and it all hurts in the most perfect way, the slow crawl of a sunburn. She pinches her lip between her teeth and pitches back to take him deeper, groaning at the utter _fullness_ when he sinks home again. He pants for breath at the crook of her neck, mapping her skin with bruising love bites. His touch washes away at her like waves at shore, softens her down into warm sand and brittle sea glass.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, so close to being swept away, blissful riptides rushing just beyond her reach. “Please-!”

“ _Yes_.” He promises the world in one decisive word, and in the fleeting moment before Mercy falls apart, she wants it all. He breathes her name and gives a deep, rough thrust, and she feels every agonizing inch of him inside of her when his thumb circles her clit and sends her flying past that edge.

Every little pain that’s ever plagued her melts away, eased out with all the tension in her muscles: long-forgotten bruises and bad memories and half-healed heartaches soothed away as she unravels. Her mouth shapes a scream that never forms, caught behind her throat with _I love you, I love you, I love you._

He bites a groan into her shoulder, gasping, fucking out a few last urgent thrusts before he follows after, wracked with shivers as he fills her, and the sound of his voice when he’s falling apart could almost make her come again. She works her hips in little cants, taking him to his deepest until he whines and shudders, collapsing against her in a heap of limp muscle.

Heart thudding in her ears, Mercy reaches back to thread unsteady fingers through the sweat-dampened mass of his hair. He takes the opening to kiss the soft skin of her wrist, trailing his lips up to her elbow, following the vibrant ink that sprawls her arm with slow and thorough devotion; after such rough treatment, his mouth is almost reverent on her skin.

When she summons the strength to slip onto her back, he cradles her gently between his arms, resting his thumb under her jaw as he kisses the tears from her cheeks. “You’re crying.”

“It hurt,” she admits, with a blush and her most reassuring smile. “But… only the way I wanted it to.”

Colt gazes down at her, reading her features as if he will find some secret there that he has somehow missed in all his careful study. “You are… full of surprises.”

She smiles, giddy with relief. “Is that a good thing?”

His fingers brush lovingly through her hair, and the faintest echo of a smirk tilts across his lips. “Everything about you is a good thing.” 

Mercy tries to tame her racing heart, but vivid pink darkens under her cheeks before she can stop it. Sated and sore and sticky with Colt’s sweat, and still she can trust him to make her blush. 


End file.
